


It Happened One (Halloween) Night

by DixieDale



Category: The Girl from U.N.C.L.E., The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 15:10:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20968604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: April Dancer's annual Halloween Party was always interesting.  But this year?  This year, things get a little out of hand!   As Alexander Waverly was heard to say later, "memorable, to say the least,", though privately adding {"and I must admit, the least said, the better!"}





	It Happened One (Halloween) Night

**Author's Note:**

> Guest appearances by:  
Lucy Bell Porter and Mitch Porter (Story - 'Portersville, Kentucky')  
Theodora O'Hare (Stories: 'Warm Memories'; 'Theodora O'Hara, The Lady With The Hats'; 'It Might Not Be Love, But Maybe It'll Do For Now')

It was October, and April Dancer's annual Halloween party was a general topic of discussion around the halls of the New York Headquarters of the UNCLE. 

After all, it was usually quite an affair - she put a lot of effort into planning it, making sure everything was in order for everyone to have a good time. It had started out as a tiny thing, in her flat, but by the second year had grown to where it was held at a house owned by her cousin Caeide's extended family - the Clan O'Donnell - though officially under a different name, of course, and the venue had remained unchanged since then. Well, it really WAS ideal.

Rovington House was a large three story brick structure. April had never been quite sure how to describe it adequately; 'house' just didn't do it justice, but it wasn't quite a mansion, either. Well, it wasn't a mansion, but it did give something of that impression but on a somewhat smaller scale. It was quite elegant in design, with wide front steps leading to a covered entrance. It was in a central location, a stable neighborhood, secure behind a tall wrought iron fence with gates. There was more parking room than you would expect in the city, and had a side entrance for the caterers and an oversized kitchen where they could work. 

One of the biggest draws as far as April was concerned, at least as far as her party was concerned, was that the entire second floor (straight in the front door and up the gracious wide open staircase) was basically one huge room, hung with crystal chandeliers, matching sconces on the walls, with several arched and curtained good-sized alcoves spaced around the room. 

Charles O'Donnell DeWitt had laughed when he was showing April around. "Yes, I DO know what it was used for, the alcoves as well! At one time, sweet cousin, this was one of the most elite, most discriminating private bordellos in all of New York state. You had to be someone very, very important to gain entrance, and the rules were quite strict, if somewhat arbitrary. Any one who violated the rules, no matter WHO, was escorted out and their membership cancelled without hesitation, and reinstatement was not an option. The membership list would easily have been mistaken for an elite excerpt of the Social AND Political or Diplomatic Register some years, and there was at least one President, two Ambassadors, and one Hungarian prince who got tossed out and told never to return! 

"The last Madame penned a manuscript about the history, the 'artistes', the membership and the goings-on. Made a fortune off it, though it was never published, except for a small private printing. Seems there were any number of individuals, families, who were willing to pay considerable sums to KEEP it from being published. I'll loan you a copy, if you like, but be forewarned, the Dancer name DOES appear in more than one instance."

"When the Clan was looking for a, well, a safe house, you might say, locally, something upscale, this caught my fancy. We have one or two places a little more discreet, but real estate in this area is always a good investment, and the provenance amused the Grandmother to no end. We DO like to keep her amused if possible; quite a temper she has, as you might have heard. Seems to go with the job, or maybe it's just part of the requirements for being considered for the job in the first place - rather a 'chicken or the egg' sort of notion. They don't call her 'the Banshee' for nothing, you know."

Yes, Rovington House was a perfect venue, and April's Halloween parties had been a tremendous success. October 31st was the only hostessing she did during the year, other than occasional intimate gatherings at her flat, usually just Mark and possibly Illya and Napoleon, a very few others. No, Halloween was her time, and she spared no effort in making it a memorable evening. The decorations were always well done, in accordance with whatever theme she might have decided upon, and that varied year by year. She hired a catering company to set up the tables and provide the right color of linens to enhance her theme, as well as provide a variety of food, well prepared and attractively laid out on the buffet tables. 

The only thing the guests had to do was show up, in costume, and they were pretty much guaranteed a fun evening, enough that most of those who were scheduled to be on duty elsewhere that night felt a real pang of disappointment. 

Alexander Waverly had even taken to showing up, sometimes in costume, and now made a fervent effort to not send her anywhere on assignment that would interfere with the party. He had never quite determined whether he was indulging himself or the young woman, but decided it was probably a combination of the two. Admittedly it was perhaps not totally professional on his part, but as head of UNCLE New York, he felt he deserved SOME small perks. 

The flat seemed smaller than usual, with April pacing around, talking all the time. Mark had sighed to himself, recognizing all the signs as he'd come in the door; he really rather dreaded the whole thing, but obviously there was no avoiding it. April Dancer was in full throttle party-planning mode. 

"Costumes, yes, of course, of some kind, though I'm not sure of the theme this year; I have a couple of viable ideas. Food is no problem, the usual, with the shapes of the cookies and the decorations on the brownies reinforcing the theme. Room decorations - well, I have that whole stash of spider webs and rubber spiders and mice and bats, if I decide to go the traditional route, though I did that last year, and I do hate to repeat myself so soon. And those heavy curtains for the three alcoves at Rovington House, so I can make those into little mini-theme rooms - those would be fine for almost any theme, though I could swap them out for something else if I wanted, I suppose. My usual punch recipe; everyone really seems to like it, and it's easy to make up extra ahead of time so there's always more to refill the bowl without a lot of fuss."

She paused to catch her breath and take a sip of her iced tea. Hers was taken straight, but Mark had insisted on adding gin to his. Something about needing the extra fortification for the task ahead, whatever he meant by that. She was too focused on her planning to wonder too much. Mark DID have his quirks, bless him.

"But that's all what I did last year, and the year before, Mark. And even making it a 'themed' costume party has its limitations - you don't want a dozen of the same costume roaming around, yet you want people to be able to express themselves. And no matter WHAT you choose as the theme, there's always someone who's already decided what they want to wear and insists on doing so, whether it abides by the theme or not! Then they're upset when they don't win 'Most Original Costume'! Well, of course not! That would only encourage such behavior, and it's difficult enough hosting a party when the guests abide by the rules, isn't it? And I can't pick out my OWN costume til I decide, can I? I need something with a wide enough scope that even those stubborn ones don't clash, so to speak, with those who actually read the instructions."

April Dancer was musing to her partner (actually he would have called it more 'rattling on' than musing, though probably not likely to be saying that out loud) about her plans for what was becoming a tradition, her Halloween party - 

"I'm looking for something DIFFERENT this year, Mark. Though I haven't decided what, just yet. But I'm ready for something really memorable, if you know what I mean."

She wasn't really looking for a response, so wasn't perturbed when she didn't get one. 

Well, Mark wasn't too sure what a safe response would be. Although he didn't want to come right out and say it, Mark, though a total fan of April Dancer herself, WASN'T a huge fan of April's annual Halloween party. 

To tell the truth, he'd had more than he really wanted of the 'woo woo' type experiences, real OR imagined. Oh, he'd been supportive of her past endeavors, as he almost always was. It wasn't like his partner was overly whimsical the rest of the year, after all. 

Still, he really felt the line between real, 'normal' you might say or maybe 'mundane', and otherwise was becoming uncomfortably thin in their lives, sometimes seemingly non-existent, and there was something about All Hallows' Eve that dimmed that line even more. After all, he had the memories, AND the scars, to prove it. 

And, really, so did April, after that 'Farmer Barney' affair the previous year, so why she was continuing on with this event, he didn't really understand. He'd had sincere hopes she would just call it quits, but it seemed 'quit' wasn't something his partner did easily. Of course, that worked to his benefit more often than not, especially when she was pulling him out of a jam, but in this case . . .

Maybe it was time for him to gently guide her in a different direction. {"Maybe a Spring Tea with a fancy hat contest included, or fanciest necktie or something of that nature. Something nice and sedate."}. Maybe it was worth a try.

"Frankly, April, I've had more than enough 'memorable' Halloween's, as you insist on calling All Hallows' Eve. And it's really a lot of work for you. Why not give it a miss this go around? I wouldn't really mind if you, we just skipped it this year. Maybe switch to something for early or mid-spring?"

He could see she wasn't really listening, though, and he sighed and girded his loins for playing support at yet another 'April Dancer Halloween Special'.

{"Although, maybe if I stop doing that, staying close by, running her errands, going to fetch those little last minute things she needs, giving her that support. Maybe then, knowing it was all on her, maybe she'd rethink in time for NEXT year."}

In fact, he was strongly tempted to put his name on the list for 'spontaneous assignments' that Waverly used to fill those times when most of the rest of Headquarters had plans. Or maybe that 'on-call list', even. That way he might be able to put the quash on THIS year as well.

But, he knew April would be disappointed, and quite likely would figure out it had been quite deliberate, and she could be mildly vindictive if annoyed too far. And even if she wasn't, he wasn't sure he could bear the look of disappointment on her face if her party went flat because he hadn't been there to help.

He sighed, and settled back to listen, make suggestions as they occurred to him. Even came up with a theme that she considered, then gave her total approval to. 

"Yes, that would let everyone express themselves properly, AND take care of the stick-in-the-muds. After all, that theme really DOES include a bit of everything! Thank you, Mark! It's so nice knowing I can always depend on you!" she beamed at him.

{"Oh, well. Partners support each other, even if they don't always understand some of the wild notions the other gets; heaven knows she's done the same for me often enough. Though I hope someone gives me a swift kick if I ever get a madcap idea like THIS!"} Mark told himself, still, relishing the warm glow that bit of praise gave him.

Well, at least he had HIS costume readily available, or at least he thought he had. It would fit the theme and depending on his mood, there were any number of names he could choose to give; and it had the added advantage of being rather innocuous rather than extravagant, never mind April's suggestion that he go as that fellow in the long-running stage production 'My Fair Lady'! He had no intention of adding to the giddiness of the night by such flights of fancy! And it wasn't as if there was the slightest resemblance to even build upon!

*  
Looking at the calendar, noting the coming end of October, Mr. Waverly was torn. He rather enjoyed Halloween, always had, though perhaps more in the early years before he had become such a target, when it was still safe to dress up and wait by their front door to hand out candy and exclaim over all the costumes. Those last two incidents proved the lack of wisdom in continuing that practice, and he and Miriam had sadly bade farewell to the tradition many years ago.

Well, he'd been suitably embarrassed at alerting Security only to find that group of six rather tall individuals dressed as gangsters (complete with tommy guns and fedoras) being held at gunpoint by his quickly-summoned Security Team were only costumed members of the middle school basketball team, not Thrush agents in disguise. 

But even worse, of course, was being held at gunpoint himself, when Thrush recruited that band of 'little people' as Thrush agents. That Miriam had pulled him aside right at the first, warned him, "they don't move like children, Alexander, not at all. I think you need to call Security", with him laughing off her concerns - ah, he still heard about that on occasion.

He limited such participation in the holiday any more, though he usually made a point of dropping in on Miss Dancer's little affair, even deigned to wear a costume sometimes. Matter of fact, he rather looked forward to dressing up and popping in for a bit. During his time in the field, he had been rather an expert at disguises, found them oddly freeing in some ways. There had been that time in Paris . . .

However, in thinking about the upcoming event, he was well aware of the annoyance felt by Amelia Brewster, the head of the UNCLE New York Wardrobe Department, at the depredations the party made in that area. And she was right, of course; those various disguises were intended for serious purposes, not as costumes for a party, after all! And the cleaning bills afterwards really were unreasonable!

He called in his temporary assistant, dictated his usual stern warning and had his secretary include a list of various costumers in the general area as a more acceptable alternative, and hoped for the best. He really didn't want another confrontation with Mrs. Brewster the morning following the party. She had a way of curdling his morning tea just by stepping into his office.

*  
On a more positive note, there was George Dennell's barely restrained, eager confiding into the ear of Dorie Chambers, a newly-arrived assistant in Wardrobe and Outfitting. Dorie had already gotten a bitter earful and plenty of warnings from HER boss, Amelia Brewster, as to the unwarranted and totally unacceptable encroachment their department went through this time of year, but this was a different viewpoint entirely.

"The party should be great, Dorie! You'll really enjoy it, I promise! April Dancer really knows how to put on a Halloween party, and each year's been different. Always a few surprises. Food's great, too. The only thing is, she just can't seem to make a decent punch. Well, it always tastes good, I'll admit, but you know, a punch should have a little 'punch', if you know what I mean??! This year I figure I'll help her out. I have this friend who has this friend who has this friend who really knows his stuff and HE'S got a recipe that's the absolute tops! And it only takes a little of his special ingredient added into whatever else is in the bowl, a quick stir, then KAPOW! PUNCH!" 

He was almost dancing with anticipatory glee.

Dorie had looked a little skeptical, and even voiced a little concern that Miss Dancer might not appreciate his adding anything to her punch, but George just shrugged that off. 

"Sure she will, Dorie! She's really a good sport, and it'll make her party something to really remember!"

*  
The date of the party was getting closer, but Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin were too busy to spend much time musing on a Halloween party in New York; they were currently trying to dodge bullets in Argentina. Seems Thrush had been a little put out at the two UNCLE agents grabbing that briefcase enroute from the Thrush satrapy in Mar del Plata to their regional headquarters, and were most intent on expressing their displeasure.

Still, when their current hiding place turned out to be a costumers shop, Napoleon let his thoughts stray just a little. Well, alright, stray a LOT. That scarlet extravangaza of a flamenco dancer's outfit on the mannequin in the corner brought a smile of remembrance to his handsome face, and he glanced over at Illya.

"Does that remind you of something, partner?" he asked in a murmur, jerking his chin toward the corner.

Illya took a quick look, then gave Napoleon a stern glare. "It would perhaps be best to keep your mind on business, Napoleon. Perhaps on concentrating on the issue of how to get us and that briefcase safely back to New York? Mr. Waverly was expecting us back two days ago, and he is NOT going to be pleased by the delay."

Napoleon thought his partner looked even more attractive than usual with that sudden blush. "Yes, yes, I'm thinking about that. But there's nothing to say I can't do two things at the same time. In fact, I am most adept . . ."

"Yes, I know you are, Napoleon. Perhaps you can put your adeptness to something more worthwhile, however, at least for the moment," Illya reprimanded. "I would like to avoid capture, torture and/or prolonged confinement, if it is all the same to you. And even if you are willing to face Mr. Waverly's wrath, are you willing to face April's if we do not make it back, AND out of Medical, in time for her Halloween party? She is going to be most annoyed, you know, and she tends to be much more inventive in making us pay than Mr. Waverly would be, especially since she will have Mark to help her."

"Hmmm, you have a point. So, Illya - have you decided what you're going to wear? And do NOT say that scarlet outfit! No matter how becoming it might be, I told you, I'm the only one who's to see you in that color, ever again!"

There was that blush again. "Yes, I remember quite well, and no, I had no intention of wearing that particular outfit. And I am not inclined to share my choice with you at this time. I have no intention of doing a 'Jack and Jill' sort of matching anyway, as you so facetiously suggested last year. We will let our costumes be a surprise to each other until that night. Now, since it appears the Thrush agents have abandoned the search, perhaps we can focus on finding a way out? I will search here, you take the rear of the establishment."

And so they parted ways, at least temporarily. When they joined up, Napoleon having found a back staircase that led to an alley entrance, the senior agent gave a speculative glance at the cloth sack his partner was carrying.

"Should I ask?" he said in a dry voice.

"You may ask all you please; however, it is really none of your business, Napoleon. Now, for transportation," and the subject was dropped.

Illya followed his partner, letting a flicker of a smile cross his face at thinking of Napoleon's response to that costume he'd grabbed from the rack at the far side. Well, it WAS just his size, he knew where he could find the right accessories to make it work, and he'd had just enough money in his pocket to leave along with the price tag under the counter. And considering April Dancer had done him the favor of letting HIM know the theme of this year's party in advance of anyone else, right as they were headed out on their mission, that had given him the time to give the matter considerable thought. No, he hadn't expected to find the perfect costume while on assignment, but he wasn't one to deny serendipity sometimes smiled on him.

Napoleon spent the time on the plane daydreaming of that scarlet outfit, wondering what he'd have to promise to get a repeat wearing. In private, of course. Well, and wondering just what was in that bag Illya was guarding so assiduously. 

{"I really HAD planned on what he called a 'Jack and Jill' coordination, but I have a feeling he's not going to spill the beans in time. Oh, well. I wonder what Reves de Costume has in their upper room; Alexandrine keeps the really quality things up there, the ones for sale, not the rentals. Yes, it's only for one night, but off-the-rack rental is still off-the-rack rental - not really ME! Hopefully the invitation will be there when we get back, so I have some idea what might be suitable. If not, April owes me a favor; I'll see if she won't give me a heads-up."

Illya looked up from his magazine at that serene smile and just had to wonder what his partner was thinking.

*  
And finally, just to make things complete, Lucy Bell Porter, of Portersville, Kentucky, was urging her older brother Mitch to join her on that road trip they'd discussed after those four UNCLE agents had made a brief stop in their quaint little town. More specifically, their overnight stay at Lucy Bell's place of business, 'Grandma's Bed and Breakfast'.

"After all, we've been talking about it for quite awhile, Mitch. Haven't been to New York City for over eighty years - why, I couldn't have been more than a hundred and ten back then, no more than a girl, really. Didn't even have the shifting down good yet. Figure it's about time to have another look see. And this year's tourist season around here is long past, and there won't be anything too amusing to come along for awhile, less someone gets lost and turns in here by accident," she insisted.

She urged him, seeing he was hesitating, "get Jethro to take over the Sheriff's Office and let's just head out! Visit a few sights, see a few of those Broadway shows I keep reading about, and I really DO want to look up those four UNCLE agents! I can't wait to introduce you to that English boy and the girl! So utterly sweet and delectable, the both of them! 

"And this time, I intend to get a good sampling from the other two as well, now that I know what I'm up against. Them being so intent on 'sharing' and all. Maybe we can show them what sharing really means, big brother. Now, wouldn't that be nice?"

That last was offered with a rather sly smirk.

Mitch smiled in amusement; yes, his sister did still bear a grudge against those two! And he did agree it had been a little selfish on their part, sharing each other's attentions, when there Lucy Bell was, waiting to just give them a whale of an interesting night! 

And, he had to admit, she'd presented a very alluring picture of the Englishman and the young woman she HAD spent time with; he wouldn't mind taking another look, maybe having a good taste himself, whether as himself or his alter-ego Michelle. Maybe both; Lucy Bell and her own alter-ego Lucas sure hadn't hesitated.

Of course, he would have to take adequate precautions. He'd never had quite the same level of control his sister had; he'd overdone his 'sampling' a few times in the past, and that was just embarrassing, and there were often repercussions. 

Around here it didn't matter so much, just one more added into the general population, but could be in the big city there'd be those who took more of a notice to such things. And those big city folks, UNCLE agents or not, probably wouldn't know how to cope with all of a sudden having four legs and fangs and all, not having had the practice. 

He remembered his granther used to talk about a recipe, a little something that helped with all that, gave the others a little more resistance, at least temporarily, to the more permanent (ie. furry) effects of that little dose his fangs tended to give off when he got real excited. 

Of course, granther said it had a few other little side-effects, his recipe, but nothing that wouldn't probably up the excitement a little in the right direction too. "Seems to get those full-humans all stirred up, hotter than a blue-faced baboon, all just quivering and needy-like," granther had said, with a far-away look of remembering certain highly-pleasurable events.

He'd have to go look that up, see just what the sly old panther put in that recipe, see if he couldn't ready himself a few little bottles before he and his baby sister left for New York City. No sense not being prepared to make the most of the trip; wasn't like they'd likely be doing this again for some time. Yep, maybe he DID need a vacation!

"Hey, Jethro! How'd you like a temporary promotion?"

The Party:  
Dorie Chambers looked around with wide eyes full of astonishment. "I know you said she went all out, George, but this is SO wonderful! Where on earth does she get her ideas? George?"

The overscaled movie posters on the walls, the Hollywood-style elegance of all the rest, all glitter and glamour, was almost overwhelming. And the guests, all dressed as their favorite movie actress or actor (or supposedly so, the Marx Brothers, the Three Stooges, Laurel and Hardy, and Abbott and Costello fans not quite being willing to admit to those weaknesses, not when there were more romantic or dramatic choices available), ah, truly a wonderful sight. 

Her date for the evening was busy scanning the room. 

"Uh, Dorie. Wait for me right here; I'll just be a minute," he said, and then he was gone, weaving his way through the building crowd.

She would have tried to see where he had gone, but Miranda Linster from Translations came up just then and they started trying to identify the other guests. Since a goodly number were masked as well as being in costume, that was no easy matter, though Miranda and Dorie had shared what THEY would be wearing, so they would have at least one other person they knew for sure other than their dates.

Meanwhile, George Dennell made his way to the punch bowl, grabbing the ladle and pouring out a small glass. He'd been practicing, using his big fish bowl at home, explaining to the fish that while he was sorry to disturb them, it really was necessary. He'd gotten really good at the small slight of hand needed, and now he emptied that tiny vial of 'PUNCH' into the punch bowl. In the process of pouring himself just a tiny bit more, he managed to give the whole bowl a good stir. {"There! That should do the trick!"}

Napoleon took another appreciative glance at his date for the night. 

"Silver lamé and feathers. Not what I expected, but I have to admit the effect is rather staggering. And you are managing those high heels remarkably well. So do I introduce you as 'Jean', or simply let the others guess? Though it shouldn't be that hard, not for any real movie buff. 'The Blonde Bombshell' herself - Jean Harlow. You've even got the walk down right," he said, leaning back to better observe that swaying backside, letting his hand drift over that tempting sight just once, though carefully, so no one would see.

"Well, you said no scarlet," Illya whispered, a seductive smile on his face. "And I did give in and give you enough of a hint, as you wished, in time for you to do that 'matching' that you were so set upon."

It hadn't been overly specific, of course, just a casual 'you might consider yourself as a romantic leading man', but it had been enough for Napoleon to work with, since the invitation had NOT been waiting, nor April forthcoming when they got back. By the time the invitation HAD been placed on his desk, he was all set. He couldn't decide on anyone in particular, so just went with a 'type', a combination of Ramon Novarro and John Gilbert, and was quite pleased with the effect. He figured either name would work if he was asked.

He was particularly pleased that ILLYA seemed pleased when he'd arrived to pick up his 'date' for the evening. And there was no doubt, they made a most elegant couple as they made their entrance down that red carpet into the party, pausing to check 'Jean's' fur wrap in the anteroom designated for such things.

"Hey, Napoleon! Great costume! Haven't seen Illya; any idea who he's coming as?" Cameron Fanning asked, giving Napoleon's date an appreciative up-and-down, one 'Jean' responded to with a cool smile.

"Well, I really couldn't say, Cam. But I expect he's around somewhere, or will be later on," Napoleon said with a congenial smile. 

"Come on, Jean. I want to check out the punch bowl before we start mingling. I hope April got a little more inventive this year - I could really use a good drink. Should have brought a flask of something to liven it up, but she'd probably bite my head off if she caught me at it."

"In my purse, a silver flask of something you would approve of," Illya whispered into his ear, keeping totally in character.

Napoleon smiled his charming smile, took the flask, placed it in his pocket, and made his way toward the punch bowl. {"It might not be enough to do any good, but it can't hurt."}

*  
"Are you sure this is the right place, Lucy Bell?" Mitchell asked, looking up at the steps. He wasn't really sure that Great White Hunter outfit suited him, (though the concept was amusing), but there wasn't a lot left to choose from at the shop his sister had dragged him to. Though he admitted his sister looked real pretty in that Leopard Woman getup (and wasn't that just funny as hell!!!)

"It's what I was told. Seems the girl throws this shindig every year, and everyone dresses up and wears masks and everything. Seemed a good time to look around, maybe get reacquainted, ya know?"

Well, if he was going to relax and enjoy himself, he might as well set down a few ground rules for himself. Let's see, he and Lucy Bell had talked about this - no public biting; no shifting in public, either to Michelle or his four-legged form; no chasing anyone up the curtains; any heavy snacking to be limited to what was on that buffet table, not on the hoof, so to speak; be a gentleman and ask properly before mounting anyone. 

Oh, and get a little protection lined up, just in case his will-power gave out on him, and he could see just the spot to get that done. Seems everyone was filling those itty-bitty cups with that fizzy stuff in the big bowl. Mentally measuring the contents of that bowl, now being refilled by that 'golden boy' his sister had enjoyed so much, he calculated that he'd probably need TWO of the little bottles of granther's formula, and eased his way over to casually make the addition. 

{"Lucky everyone is so busy jabbering, they didn't even notice,"} he thought afterwards with more than a little satisfaction. {"Now, as long as I'm careful not to get too carried away, I can start having a little fun."}

It sure looked like Lucy Bell was ready; she was on point like a bluetick hound, her eyes never leaving the dark haired man in the fancy evening duds and the elegant if exceedingly expensive-looking woman draped against his arm. 

"That can't be your 'golden boy' and the girl," he whispered, only to raise his brows at her reply. "Spotted HIM over at the drink bowl just now."

"No, brother mine, that's the other two. My, my, my, don't that one make a mighty pretty woman! Don't know who is more reved up, me or Lucas! Yes, we're going to have us a FINE night, Mitch! I always DID fancy that Latin lover type, you know, and never did see anyone that got my juices going more than that Jean Harlow. My, oh my, oh my!!!"

*  
An unexpected and uninvited guest arrived shortly thereafter, one wearing a three-quarter mask when most wore only a half-mask if any at all, a person everyone immediately noticed but only Mark Slate recognized, groaning as he did so. 

"Theodora! What are you doing here?? I thought you were in Brussels," he breathed in her ear as he sidled up to her.

"Shushh, Mark, not so loud," teasing him for feeling the need to keep anyone from overhearing. "I was until two days ago. When I arrived this morning, I realized the date and I remembered what you'd told me about your partner's little party, and I thought I'd take a look. Do you like my costume?" 

He gulped, "the hat is rather, well, modest, isn't it? I mean, not quite your usual." It was tiny golden satin thing, smaller than her mask, not one of her usual cartwheel or towering extravaganzas. But there was more material in that hat than there was in the rest of her costume. If there WAS any material in the rest of her costume, and Mark rather thought there wasn't. Even those high heels consisted of little more than extremely narrow straps at the ankles and toes.

She gave a wicked and ever so sensual smile. "Perhaps, but I didn't want it to distract from the overall effect. Was I successful?? The hat doesn't gather TOO much attention away from the rest?"

He looked at the lush body on full display, long shapely bare legs in silver heels, the ankle-length exuberant blonde curly wig discreetly (!!) covering the very tips of her otherwise bare and bountiful breasts, swaying forward to cover her (also otherwise bare) lower section, the fall of curls in the back shielding her firm, rounded bare bottom, at least until she moved. {"Sticky plaster? Maybe some of that stickum we use to keep a false moustache in place? The curls can't be staying in that position through sheer force of will!"}

"I have to say, Theodora, I don't think the hat is going to distract anyone for very long." {"For a woman that April insists on terming 'that middle-aged, out of shape female', Theodora is in remarkably fine condition. Well, there's all that yoga, of course; I've always thought she was remarkably agile and limber, and she swears that's the reason. She's like a great sleek graceful cat!"}. 

He took another encompassing look, blushing just a little. While he was in no way unknowledgeable about Theodora's 'finer points', in fact had intimate knowledge of each and every one of them, he wasn't accustomed to viewing them in full public, in a roomful of his professional associates.

She took his arm possessively, "come, Mark, sweetheart. Introduce me around, will you? But perhaps you should just call me 'Lady Godiva' or 'My Lady' for the rest of the evening, just in keeping with the spirit of things. One DOES like to keep with the spirit of things, you know. I would have brought a horse, but I didn't know where to find one on such short notice, and I was worried about possible damage to the floor. Oh, and by the way, I DO like YOUR costume. A sea captain - my, my, my! A pirate captain, as well, perhaps? Are you going to sweep me away to one of those curtained alcoves and have your wicked way with me, Captain?" 

Her voice turned husky, her look increasingly seductive. "Shall I beg for mercy, my wicked pirate captain? On my knees, perhaps? Such an evocative image, somehow, don't you think?" 

Mark gave another gulp, hoping his partner didn't recognize Theodora. Hoping Theodora didn't insist on that little alcove adventure. Hoping, if she did, he'd have the fortitude and common sense to keep it from going too far. Hoping - oh, what the hell, by now, just hoping!

Thinking to distract her (AND himself!), he tucked her arm into his, and drew her in the direction of the punch bowl. 

"How about a drink first, before anything else? April usually puts together a nice bowl of punch. I know you usually have your own flask, but" taking a quick, appreciative glance at her, "I really don't see where you could be carrying one tonight." 

Theodora took a polite sip of the glass he poured her, and frowned slightly. "It has a nice flavor, Mark, a bit unusual even, but I'm convinced I'm right about your sweet partner. She really is the cautious type, isn't she? Not an ounce of real adventure in her, poor little thing." 

She glanced toward the rear of the room, "oh, isn't that her now? What on earth is she wearing?? A burlap bag??"

And as he turned, hoping like hell it WASN'T April, {"and surely it can't be, not with THAT description!"}, Theodora reached up under the curls at the nape of her neck and brought out a tiny vial and dumped it into the punchbowl. {"This should liven it up just a bit, just enough everyone doesn't positively die from boredom."}

"Theodora! No, of course that's not April! That's Amelia Brewster, head of the Wardrobe section. She hates these parties, and refuses to pay to rent a decent costume, so she puts together whatever and calls it done. Though I have no idea who or what she's made up to be in THAT getup. Now, SHE'S the one who could raid the inventory at HQ and get away with it, though that wouldn't really be cricket, I suppose, seeing as how she complains when anyone else does it."

Theodora wasn't really interested in Amelia Brewster, but she wanted to steer him away from that punch bowl; while she had plans for Mark Slate, she knew full well HE didn't need the sort of warming liquid encouragement she'd dropped into that bowl. She was perfectly capable of providing any 'warming' he might require.

"So, if she hates it, why does she come at all?" she asked, taking his arm and heading toward a small cluster of people nearby.

"Oh, she's worried if she doesn't come, someone will get away with having raided her racks for a costume; this way, she can catch them and go running to Mr. Waverly tomorrow," he told her with a grin.

"You know, Mark darling, I don't know that I'm really feeling all that sociable," she told him, watching the increasingly-thoughtful, slightly flushed faces of the people sipping at what they'd dipped out of that punch bowl. "Why don't we go have a quiet little chat? You can tell me all about that fascinating costume you're wearing; I can tell you all about the fascinating costume I'm wearing - I'm sure we will find it all enormously fascinating."

"Theodora," he chided her. "We can't just disappear. It's April's party. She's running late, some last minute thing for Waverly, and I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on things til she . . .Theodora? Theodora!"

His voice faded as she parted the silver draperies of that alcove and they passed through. 

Things got interesting very quickly inside that alcove, but not nearly as interesting as things were getting OUTSIDE the alcove. Time passed, those draperies still remained closed. Meanwhile, the guests were finding a vast number of ways to amuse themselves, none of which were on April's scheduled list of activities. Some of those activities would have been enlightening even to whoever had compiled the illustrations for the updated version of the 'Kama Sutra'!

Eventually the visitors from Portersville decided they'd indulged as much as they'd dared to for one space of time in one location, and so they left by the front door. Well, Lucy Bell had decided. Mitch found himself rather reluctant to leave.

Lucy Bell was making her way down the front steps while taking a fast look through those color pictures she'd taken with that new-fangled instant Poloroid camera the magazines had said was just the best thing to come along. 

She had to admit, the images were nice and sharp, if maybe the color tones were just a little off. Didn't quite pick up that sweet little flush at the nape of that dark fella, Napoleon's, neck when she'd had him pinned under the buffet table treating him to something that wasn't laid out on the tablecloth above. Course, that was Lucas, not Lucy Bell, but when it came right down to it, (and it HAD come right down to it!), it was pretty much six of one, half dozen of the other, as they said. And he hadn't seemed to mind the attention, OR the switch in midstream, not as much as you'd think considering how he'd avoided her back in Portersville. Hasn't really kicked up a fuss at all!

That second picture, the one of the Russian, Illya, didn't quite pick up the slight darkening at the base of his balls when she had them puckered up so nice and tight, either. That was a pity; she thought the tonal variation had been very artistic - {"'Motif in shades of pale', I could call it. Maybe I just might have a knack for this 'art photography', as the magazines call it."}. 

Still, the nice stack of pictures were all close enough to give her some good memories, help her out when she was telling the story to the folks back home. Well, bringing home pictures from your vacation was the newest rage, wasn't it?

"Well, I have to say, Mitch, it was a lot more lively than I would have expected! I know I've been reading about how those city folks just have no sense of morality, but I never really believed it, not til tonight! Why, right out in the open like that! Least I found some privacy first, what with those tablecloths hanging all the way to the floor like that! Can you believe . . . Mitch? Mitch?? Mitchell Ambrose Porter, you in there??!"

Mitch blinked, "oh, hey, Lucy Bell. Didn't see you there," he admitted while his baby sister gaped at him. 

"Didn't SEE me? Been talking at you for ten minutes straight, you big lug!! Oh, I know, you got that woman stuck in your mind! The one prancing around with not a stitch of clothes on! New York really IS different, I guess. Seems you might have a rival, though" she teased him. "Seems she's kinda stuck on that pretty golden English boy. That was some mighty serious heat coming out from behind those curtains."

Mitch smirked, "she's just toying with him, that's easy enough to see; scrawny thing like him couldn't keep the interest of a woman built like that. Sides which, she wasn't 'prancing', Lucy Bell. She was striding regally, like a majestic queen, arrayed in an unearthly beauty that needed no adornment, in a true nobility that needed no sham of mortal linen . . ."

Lucy Bell burst out laughing. "Oh, Mitchey, haven't heard you go off into poetics since that big she tiger Priscilla walzed through Portersville nigh a hundred years ago, no, more like a hundred fifty! Near wore out the whole of Poppa's library looking up sweet things to say to her, and all our patience listening to you spout them everytime she got close by. Then she takes off down to Louisiana with Cousin Beau one night and never seen hide nor hair of either of them again. Well, bout time you had yourself another fling, I guess," she admitted indulgently.

"Don't know if this is a fling, baby sister. Thinking maybe it's time I settled down, maybe started filling out the family tree a little. Not getting any younger, you know. And she's got the hips for it. Whatta ya think?"

And Lucy Bell flat out sat down on the sidewalk and laughed and laughed and laughed. When she was finished, wiped her tears away, and let her irritated big brother help her to her feet, she patted his arm, encouragingly. 

"Well, I'm sure not gonna stand in your way. Go on back in, make your play. Besides, could be she comes to live in Portersville, that pretty little redhead and her golden English boy might come to visit. Now, wouldn't that be all nice and homey? Missed visitin with them tonight."

She headed out to see what or who she might find as dessert, while Mitch did go back inside, keeping his eye on that alcove. 

Except, of course, for that little space of time when he decided to show that skinny guy with the glasses, George Somebody, and his date, Dorie, a good time. That had gone real good, too, except for that annoying woman in a potato sack who walked into that alcove, and started screeching at the top of her lungs. Well, he'd stopped that rightly enough, turning his head and just telling her flat out. 

"Damn, woman, stop that almighty screeching! Can't you tell I'm busy here??" 

Maybe it was the annoyed tone of his voice, maybe it was that the voice was coming from his furry self, since his self-control had slipped just a little. Anyhow, she'd given this funny little whimper and just shut her mouth and wandered back out to the main room. 

{"People! Sometimes they can be so damned rude!"} he'd thought, before he got back to the matter at hand. 

Anyhow, he was back in the main room before the curtains on that other alcove were pushed back and the woman he was waiting for reappeared. Well, her and that 'golden boy' his sister kept smirking about.

When Mark and Theodora finally re-emerged, her with a smug smile on her face, him with a slightly sheepish grin, the scene in the room had changed, enough that that sheepish grin on the Englishman's face changed to a look of outright horror. 

One that matched the one on his just-arrived partner's face. 

{"Be a little late to your own party, strictly for business reasons, and just LOOK what happens!!!"} April wailed to herself. 

As for Alexander Waverly, standing there beside their hostess, he thought rather absently that this put an entirely new interpretation on the term HR kept using in their weekly bulletins, about "getting to know your fellow employees better". In fact, wasn't that the majority of the HR department over on the far side of the room, illustrating various different, some highly inventive methods for doing just that? 

{"I must say, there's one or two here I wouldn't mind 'knowing' a little better myself. Miss Carstairs, for one. And I would like to get a much closer look at Miss Drudeen's birthmark; such an unusual location! Hhmmmm!"}

April's eyes searched frantically, although 'furiously' might have been a better word, for her partner, the one she'd put in temporary charge of events when Waverly had apologetically co-opted her to help with that last minute briefing. Finding him, standing across the room, she gave voice to everything she was feeling.

"OOOOOOOHHHHHH! MARK SLATE, YOU RAT! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY PARTY???!"

Somehow, even though he was pretty sure this wasn't his fault, (couldn't for the life of him imagine how it COULD be!), Mark knew he was going to pay, big time.

He glanced over, wincing, not looking forward to a confrontation between his partner and Theodora, but Theodora had vanished, as if she had never been there.

Well, of course she hadn't stuck around! She had no intention of dealing with a highly irate hostess whose party had just turned into a wild orgy. Especially when she'd not only dropped a little 'gift' into the punch bowl {"must have REALLY gotten that recipe wrong!!"}, but also had spent a goodly amount of the time up close and personal with the woman's partner, of whom April Dancer was WAY over-protective, perhaps overly-possessive, to her way of thinking! 

{"Like a dog in a manger, I believe the saying is. I do wonder when she is going to wake up and reel him in; it wouldn't take but the right look, the right word from her - that's clear as anything, at least with him. After all, there comes a time when a female needs to starting thinking of the future, perhaps about having a couple, three cubs. Oh, well, at least I can enjoy myself til she finally puts her brand on him nice and clear."}. 

Well, she'd been giving that a little thought herself, these days, about the future, about a few little ones clustered around, though she knew Mark Slate wasn't the one to help her with that. No, she needed, wanted someone quite different, no matter how much she enjoyed the young man's attentions.

Quickly making her way to where she'd left her long cloak, she grabbed it and started to pull it around her.

"Well, hello, beautiful. Leaving so soon?" came the slow Southern voice behind her. "Things were just starting to get real interesting."

She turned, sent the big man an appraising look up and down. 

{"Ummmm, something about his eyes, so male, so . . . feral under that smooth smile. I wonder if he's half as good as he thinks he is?"}. 

Somehow she thought he just might be. It had been a long, long time since she'd found anyone who could truly match her at her innermost level. 

"Yes, I was getting rather of wearing this getup, was headed back to my hotel to get into something more . . . comfortable," she said with a sensual, inviting smile. "Perhaps have a drink of something other than that rather insipid punch. Perhaps you would care to join me?" she offered, a welcoming purrrr entering her voice, almost by instinct. 

{"Well, although Mark is quite accomplished and really terribly sweet, he's such a gentleman. Fine for an appetizer, but not for a main course - certainly not as a constant diet, not for me, anyway. Ummm, this one just might do nicely. Wonder if the 'big game hunter' is up to dealing with some really big game? It would be nice to be able to really let loose, be a real 'tiger' instead of a 'lady' for a change. "}

A broad smile came to Mitch's face. "Now that sounds like a real good idea, pretty lady. Though I admit that 'getup' is real fetching, seems to me like it's kinda hiding your inner beauty."

Theodora quirked one eyebrow skeptically. What she was wearing wasn't hiding much of anything. But still, that was a nice thing to say, and not quite the usual line. Yes, this one just might do. 

Everyone else was otherwise occupied; no one noticed them leaving, just as no one had noticed Mitch and Lucy Bell leaving earlier and Mitch coming back in alone.

And, when it was all over, no one at UNCLE New York could say it hadn't been a most MEMORABLE time. No, not one to be repeated, necessarily, but quite memorable, just the same. 

Not that anyone wanted to discuss their memories, any of them. (Amelia Brewster, in fact, had requested a medical leave of absence because of HER memories, and the team of psychologists who'd heard her out agreed it would be advisable, at least until she got a more firm grip on reality. Though one member of the team intended to write a very interesting thesis on that odd combination of beastiality and sexuality and dominance thing she seemed to be focused on.) 

Just as no one wanted to explain to the catering company the condition of their equipment or linens; they just all pitched in, silently, to come up with the amount April assessed for the damages and extra cleaning bills. She rather prided herself on that little memo she'd sent out; it was really quite ladylike and hadn't included even ONE of the curse words she'd used in formulating it.

April admitted, ruefully, that even paying that extra charge added to her bill wasn't going to make that particular company agreeable to providing catering services next year; it appeared she'd been put on the dreaded Catering Black List for them and many of the other such companies in the metropolitan area.

She bemoaned that to her partner, now. 

"Who KNOWS how far afield I'll have to go to find a company even willing to CONSIDER catering my party next year??!!"

Mark suppressed a shudder at the memory of his first sight of that ever-so-busy room. He had less than a year to prevent something like that from happening again, and he decided to get an early start. 

{"No telling how long it will take to make her see reason!"}

"Maybe it's time to rethink the whole Halloween idea, April-luv. Don't see how you could top this one anyway. Maybe do a switch, try something around the Easter Parade next year, instead?" 

At least she was back talking to him, since even SHE couldn't figure how he could have caused such a debacle, at least not once she'd calmed down.

And he was pretty sure Illya and Napoleon were speaking to each other again, though there were still some disapproving looks being cast back and forth between THOSE two partners. 

Still, they didn't seem to be blaming him, either, for whatever had occurred to cause all the pouting they were doing, so that was all to the good. And they had both almost stopped that odd snarling they'd been doing, far too frequently, whenever anything or anyone upset them. 

Funny, George Dennell and Dorie Chambers had been doing a lot of that too. People had really been starting to talk about THAT! Along with finding them in the storage closet, uh, 'grooming' each other every time you turned around. 

Waverly, of course, WAS blaming him, but that was only to be expected, since Waverly would have probably blamed him for the moon coming up if he could, and Mark pretty much let those recriminations roll off his shoulders. 

Everyone ponied up for the extra charges from their various costume shops, those shops now expressing such dismay, indeed, outrage, over the condition in which they'd been returned. 

Those who had made or already owned their own Halloween attire, looked it all over carefully, each determining whether the cleaning and repairs (and the permanently-attached memories) made them worth salvaging or not. 

George Dennell, for one, was considering having his toga (ala Charleton Heston) bronzed. Dorie (dressed as Dorothy, as portrayed by Judy Garland) had proclaimed it had turned him into a "marvelously erotic beast! You gave me an entirely new perspective on Dorothy and that 'cowardly lion'!" 

Although he didn't really remember all that much that made any sense, (and what memories he did have didn't feature HIM as the erotic beast, and he seemed to remember a leopard, not a lion!), he had the feeling that comment surely couldn't be a BAD thing and could only enhance his dating potential! He was already starting to get interested looks from some of the women who'd never even glanced in his direction before. 

Of course, that didn't keep him from finding new ways to get Dorrie interested in sharing a little mutual affection. Funny, them both coming up with that very same special way of showing affection. 

Though they'd both been warned about that other new habit, their new way of showing their annoyance, especially about being interrupted in the sharing of that affection. The HR representative had been quite firm.

"Snarling is not an appropriate method of communication in an office setting." 

George figured they'd be hearing more lectures, once Medical finished patching up those long scratches Dorrie had given the man. Doubt HR would think those were appropriate either, but he'd found the sight of his Dorrie slashing her nails across the man's arm highly arousing, necessitating another trip to the supply closet. He figured he wasn't all that interested in his dating potential as he was in his 'Dorie' potential, especially since she seemed to feel much the same.

Miranda Linster intended to keep her Queen Bess (as portrayed by Bette Davis) costume at least through New Year's Day, thinking she just might wear it again to that big New Year's Eve costume party she was going to, thinking perhaps it had just one more orgy in its satin hoops. {"Orgy and Bess!"} she'd giggled to herself as she'd bundled it up to take it to the cleaners on the corner, where she knew she would face considerable disapproval over its condition but decided to just ignore any comments.

That Halloween was memorable for more than just that though. There were two weddings that sprang from that night, and two 'blessed events', some nine moths later. It was perhaps not the best coordination that the weddings and the 'blessed events' did not occur to the same individuals, but what could you do? You can't coordinate EVERYTHING. Even the best of hostesses have to admit that.

Late January:  
April was sorting her mail, looked up at the sound coming from the other desk, sort of a combination strangled laugh, groan, and something she just couldn't put a name to. Her partner was staring at a piece of stationery, making that very odd noise, and his face had the oddest expression on it.

"Something funny, darling?"

"Well, it depends on how you look it, April. It's a wedding invitation from, well, you might say an old acquaintance."

There was such an odd note in his voice, she just had to wonder.

"An old girl friend? Anyone I know?" she pressed.

He raised his blue eyes, confusion rapidly giving way to a need for hysterical laughter.

"Theodora O'Hare. Best look to see if you don't have one too, luv. She mentions in her note that you should."

April stared at him in disbelief. Theodora inviting him was one thing, (annoying, impertinent, but still perhaps understandable) but HER?? The two women never had been on a kiss-kiss, 'let's take tea', basis.

She glanced down at the stack and pulled out two matching envelopes, both with that social-official look that formal invitations bore. Quickly opening both, she read the first, the wedding invitation, with disbelief; the second, she just sat and stared at, her mouth open as she sought the proper words.

"Well, did you get one?" Mark asked impatiently.

"Oh, yes. For the 20th of March. Along with an invitation to a shower for Theodora two weeks prior."

Mark smirked, "somehow I can't quite see Theodora at a bridal shower, even as the guest of honor. She's just not that conventional."

"Oh, this one should be unconventional enough even for Theodora," April remarked dryly, raising laughing eyes to watch her partner's face as she broke the news. 

"It's a combination bridal/baby shower. Seems your Theodora and her husband-to-be are expecting. The shower invitation is from Theodora's sister-in-law to be. Mark, did you happen to notice the lucky groom's name on the invitation? See the RSVP address on the invitation?"

He grinned at her, "was wondering if you picked up on that." His laughter rang out so loud they could have heard him down the hall. "Mitch Porter, the sheriff from Portersville. Lucy Bell's brother, the one who didn't want you 'cutting into her business'. Lucy Bell is hosting the shower??!"

His laughter died away as he remembered that visit, the overnight stay at Lucy Bell's Bed and Breakfast. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he asked, "were you thinking of going, then, luv? To either?"

She looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "No, and partner mine, neither are you! We'll send a nice present, wish them the best, and come up with a very nice, iron-clad excuse. Perhaps another trip into Mongolia would be nice. I hear it's lovely that time of year."

She took another look at that shower invitation, at that note at the bottom, and could no longer restrain her giggles. Well, perhaps signing up with a 'Blessed Event Registry', as the magazines called them, was the sensible thing to do, especially for the out-of-town invitees; it was certainly the fashionable thing to do any more. 

But really, including Farthington's Outfitting for Exotic Pets on the short list of preferred vendors? Didn't that seem, well, a little OFF?? Though she knew her curiosity would insist on her at least visiting the place to see just what items Theodora and Mitch had included on their particular list.


End file.
